


Thrones

by LadyTargaryen1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTargaryen1/pseuds/LadyTargaryen1
Summary: This will start similar to the books but will divert later on.Feedback appreciated!





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> This will start similar to the books but will divert later on.
> 
> Feedback appreciated!

 

**Bran**

 

The morning air was crisp and clear, with a sharpness to it that marked the end of summer. They left Winterfell at dawn to see the man beheaded, twenty men all in their party. Bran rode with them, nervous and excited. Though he was only seven, his lord father had deemed him old enough to see the king's justice take place. 

Men had taken the deserter captive outside a small holdfast in the Rills, Lord Rodrik wrote. Torrhen thought him to be a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-The-Wall. Goose pimples rose up and down his arms when he thought about it.

He still remembered Old Nan's stories. The wildling were a cruel and savage people she said, rapers and raiders and slavers. They drank with demons and devils, stole girls in the night from their beds, and drank blood from polished horns of human bones. Their women laid with the Others to sire terrible half-human children.

But the man he saw bound from hand to foot was old and scrawny, not much taller than his brother. Two ears and a finger were lost to frostbite. He was dressed in all black, the same black as the Night's Watch of his uncle, but instead of jeweled scabbards and sable furs, his clothing was tattered and greasy.

Their breaths let out steam in the cold morning air as his father ordered the man cut down and brought before them. Torrhen and Jonos were on their horses on both sides of him, Bran in the middle on his pony, trying to seem older than what he was. Torrhen's long dark brown hair blowed smoothly in the wind, his ice-blue eyes seeing everything and nothing as he looked down. Jonos held a large staff in his hand, the banner rippling in the wind: a grey wolf running across a field of ice-white.

His father sat on his horse, black hair stirring in the wind, grey eyes cold and harsh. His shortly cropped beard was pure onyx, making him seem younger than his thirty seven years. His face was not the same as the one who sang softly in the hall as they broke their fast, or that cheered when Bran sparred in the yard, or when he learned to ride his pony.  _He has taken off his father's face, and donned the skin of the Lord of Winterfell._ Father had been left to do this duty more oft than not, especially since grandfather became sick.

Father asked questions, and the man answered, but after they were done Bran could scarce remember what had been said. Finally father spoke a word, and two guardsmen dragged the limp man to an ironwood stump in the center of the field.

They forced his head down into the wood, but he gave little protest. Lord Brandon Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought the sword to him, _Ice_ it was called. Wide as a man's hand and taller than Torrhen, the blade was spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian Steel.

Father took off his black leather gloves and handed them to Martyn Cassel, the captain of their household guards. He took his greatsword in hand and said, ''In the name of Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by word of Brandon of the House Stark heir to Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do hereby sentence you to die.''  The words came harsh and bitter out of his father's mouth, especially when he spoke the king's title.

His bastard brother moved closer, placing his free hand on his shoulder. ''Keep the pony in hand,'' he whispered, ''and don't look away, father will know if you do.''

Bran kept the pony under control and didn't look away. His father took the man's head in a single stroke,and  one of the horses reared away from the blood. Bran found himself unable to look away, the red substance soaking up the snow.

The head bounced off and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy's feet. Theon was a tall, dark, handsome youth who found everything amusing. He laughed and kicked the head away. 

''Ass,'' Jonos muttered, thankfully Theon didn't hear him. Jon put a hand on his shoulder, and Bran looked over to his brother, grey eyes solem and so different from his own.

''You did well Bran,'' He said, ''Father will be proud.'' That made him feel less on edge at least.

The ride back to Winterfell was less cold than the one to the field, Bran observed. The sun was high in the sky and shining bright, the sky a clear blue. He rode with his brothers, trying to keep up as the raced on their horses farther and farther from the main party. 

''The man died bravely,'' cousin Torrhen said, he was big and broad and growing every day. He had his father's brown hair and mother watery blue eyes. Even though they looked different, he reminded Bran of his eldest brother, Rickard.

''He had the courage at least,'' he went on.

''No,'' Jon Snow said quietly, ''that was fear, not bravery. He was terrified, you could see it in his eyes, Stark.'' 

''Others take his eyes,'' Torrhen said, ''race you to the bridge?'' 

''Done,'' his brother said with ease, kicking his horse forward. Torrhen followed him, shouting hooting as snow lept up from where their horses raced. Bran didn't bother following, he'd never be able to keep up on his pony. His mind went back to the man, he remembered his eyes, dead and cold as the guards dragged him to the stump. Suddenly the woods felt cold.

He was so deep into his thoughts that he didn't notice the party catched up with him until his father spoke. His father was tall and handsome, with laughing lines around his eyes and mouth. Grey eyes stared into blue.

''Are you well, Brandon?'' He asked, concern in his voice. 

''Yes father,'' Bran told him,his father was clad in chocolate-brown velvet jerkin over black leather doublet, with heavy fur cloak tied to his bofice with black leather cross straps along with an ermine collar. When he looked down, he seemed like a giant. 

''Torrhen said the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid.'' His father considered that for a moment.

''What do you think?'' Bran thought hard.

''Can a man still be brave when he's afraid?'' He asked.

''That's the only time a man can be brave, Bran.'' father told him, ''you understand why I did it, yes?''

''He was a wildling, they carry off women and sell them to the Others,'' he said, thoughs of Old Nan's stories once again entered his mind. But his father was smiling.

''Old Nan has been telling you stories. In truth, he was an oathbreaker, a deserter from the Night's Watch who managed to get past your uncle Benjen.'' Then the smile died from his face.

''No man is more dangerous than that, Bran. The deserter know his life is in forfeit when he leaves, so he will flinch away from no crime, no matter how sinister. But you mistake me, the question was not why he had to die, but why  _I_ had to do it.''

''King Rhaegar has a headsmen,'' he said warily, the Targaryen’s were a sore topic for his father. ''And I heard they give men over to their dragons when they please,'' Father frowned.

''He does,'' he said, voice hard. ''As did his ancestors before him, yet our way is the old way. The blood of the First Men flows through the veins of the Starks, as it does all Northmen, and we hold the belief that the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. Do you know why?'' Bran shook his head.

''If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the eyes and hear his final words. If you cannot bear to do that, perhaps he does not deserve to die.'' Then his father placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

''One day you will be Rickard's bannerman, holding a castle of your own in the name of your brother and king. Justice will surely fall to you, and when it comes you musn't look away. You shall take no pleasure in it, but cannot cower away in fear either. A man who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.'' 

Then Jon came over the hill, shouting and waving his hand frantically, ''Father, Bran, come see what Torrhen found!'' Then he wheeled his horse around and galloping back over the ridge.

Jory, the son of Martyn, their master-at-arms, rode up beside them, his father just behind. ''Trouble, my lord?'' He asked.

''Of course,'' father deadpanned. ''Come, let's see what my son and nephew have rooted out now.'' he spurred his horse forward, Bran and the others following closely. 

They found Torrhen on the riverbank north of the bridge, Jon still a horse beside him. Summer snows had been heavy of late, and many in Winterfell had taken that to mean a harsh winter. The Godswood was filled with men and women, praying for a short winter. His mother had taken their resolve as well, but since she still worshiped the Seven gods of the south, she and Serene went into the Sept for their prayers.

His cousin stood knee deep in white, hooded cloak pulled back to the sun reflected off his brown hair. He was cradling something in his arms and talked to Jon in a hushed voice. 

The men walked their horses warily, trying to find solid ground on the uneven earth. Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy were the first to reach them. Theon was laughing and jesting with Jory was he rode, Bran heard a gasp from him. 

''Gods!'' he exclaimed, trying to keep his horse from throwing him as he reached for his sword. Martyn Cassel dismounted and ran to his son's side, both of their swords out.

''Torrhen get away from it!'' Jory shouted.

Torrhen grinned and stood, ''she can't hurt me,'' he proclaimed, ''just look, she's dead, Jory.'' 

Bran could not keep his curiosity checked by then, climbing stiffly off his horse, he waded through the snow before reaching his brother. Jory and Theon had dismounted as well.

''Seven hells is it?'' Theon demanded. 

''A wolf,'' Torrhen said proudly, ''our sigil.''

''A freak,'' Theon responded, ''look at the size of her.'' 

His heart was racing with excitement as he went to his cousins side. Buried in the snow save for his head and chest, the huge figure slumped limply on the bank. Shards of ice had formed in its mottled fur, and corruption clung to the corpse like a woman's perfume. Bran saw maggots crawling in its eyes, flies buzzing around the body, and a wide mouth full of yellow teeth. 

The size made him stare in wonder, it was bigger than his pony, and twice the size of the kennel's largest hound. 

''It's no freak,'' Jonos defended, ''it's a direwolf, they grow larger than any other kind.''

Theon replied, ''there's not been a direwolf seen south of the Wall in two hundred years.'' 

''Then what am I seeing now?'' Jon asked.

Bran looked away from the beast. He then noticed what was in Torrhen's arms. He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-black fur, eyes still closed. It nuzzled against Torrhen's chest as he cradled it, searching for a nipple amongst his velvet doublet. Bran reached out hesitantly.

''Go on, you can touch it.'' Bran gave a quick stroke, still nervous. When he turned around Jon had a second pup in his arms.

''Here you go,'' he said as he placed him in his arms.

''There are six of them.'' Someone whispered, he sat down in the snow and cradled it in his arms.

''Direwolves south of the Wall after so many years, I like it not.'' Hullen, master of horse said.

''It's a sign,'' said Torrhen excitedly, Father frowned.

''It is a dead animal, Tor.'' Yet he seemed troubled in his face. Snow crunched as he moved around, ''do we know what killed her?''

''Something in its throat,'' Jon said, ''there just under the jaw,'' Father knelt and groped under the beasts head and pulled hard. A foot of an antler snapped off, wet and sticky with blood.

Silence fell over them, though he did not understand why. His father tossed the antler and wiped his hands in the snow, ''I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp,'' he said, his voice broke the silence. 

''Maybe she didn't,'' Jory said nervously, ''I've heard tales, maybe she was dead when the pups came.'' 

''Born with the dead,'' Martyn grunted, ''worse luck.''

''No matter,'' Hullen spoke confidently, ''soon they'll be dead too.'' Bran cried out in horror.

''The sooner the better,'' Theon said, drawing his dagger. 

''Give it here, Bran.'' The pup squirmed against him. 

''No!'' He shouted at them, ''it's mine!''

''Put away your blade, Greyjoy!'' Torrhen said angrily.

''I take orders from your uncle, not you!'' Theon shot back. 

''It'd be a mercy,'' Hullen soothed. Bran shook his head stubbornly. He looked to his father, but only received a frown.

''Hullen speaks truly, it's better than a death of cold and starvation.'' 

''No!'' He said, turning away, he refused to cry in front of the men.

''Lord Stark,'' Jon said suddenly, it was strange to hear him use such formal words. ''There are six pups, three male, three female.''

''What of it, Jon?'' 

''You have five trueborn children, plus Torrhen as your nephew.'' He said, ''the direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have these pups.''

Bran loved his brother with all his heart just then. He knew what he had just done for him. He acknowledge Torrhen as a trueborn Stark, but committed himself since he was a bastard, a Snow. Cursed with the name that marked him for what he was. Father regarded him.

''You want no pup for yourself?'' he asked.

''I'm no Stark.'' Jon said plainly, Bran rushed to the front.

''I'll nurse him myself!'' He vowed, Torrhen was beside him.

''Me as well! I'll give a towel soaked in warm milk for him to suck on!''

''Easy to say, harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants' time with this nonsense. If you want them you will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves. Old gods save us if you mistreat them, they are not dogs, I warn you, they are beasts capable of ripping a man's throat out of his neck.'' None of what his father had said discouraged him.

When they got back onto the road, Bran allowed himself to gloat on his victory. The pup squirmed against him.  _I'm going to take good care of you,_ he swore. He needed to think of a name for him. It was when they were halfway across the bridge than Jon suddenly stopped. 

''What is it?'' Torrhen asked.

''Can't you hear it?'' Jon said.

Bran could hear the leaves rustling in the wind, the water streaming in the river, and the snorts of his horse. But his brother was clearly listening to something else. 

''There,'' Jon said, he then turned his horse around and galloped back, Bran saw him dismount near the dead direwolf and kneel. Half a second later he re-mounted and rode back to them smiling. 

''He must have crawled away,'' he said. Jon's beast was most curious, his fur was white, where the others were grey, and his eyes were red. Bran's mind drifted to the man his father beheaded, blood red as summer wine drinking up the white snow. Bran thought it queer, that he could see when the other were blind. 

''An albino,'' Theon said with amusement. ''That one will die quicker than the others,'' Jon looked up, eyes frosty.

''I think not, Greyjoy. This one's mine.''


	2. Chapter II

**Catelyn**

 

Catelyn misliked the Godswood.

She had been born a Tully of Riverrun in the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The Godswood there was bright and airy, with tall redwoods with colored leaves spread wide, the colors of the rainbow being seen in the summer mists. Birds would sing every dawn from their hidden nests, and the air was sweet with the scent of a dozen flowers.

The forest of Winterfell was different, it was dark harsh and savage place, acres of old ironwood as ancient as the earth itself. Old roots of trees spread long and thick, digging deep into the dirt. The weirwood tree was the godswood crown jewel, white as bone, weeping blood-red sap.

This wood was stubborn and restless as the men who ruled from the castle nearby. Hundred year old sentinel and mighty oaks made her weary and afraid. No redwoods grew here, no birds sung, and no rainbows could be seen. Thick black tree trunk sat close together as their branches twisted and kneaded into each other, making a crude canopy to hide away from the hot sun.

This was a place of silence and contemplation, not of song and hymn. But she knew she would find her lord husband here on this night, he always ventured here, especially after he killed a man. This was his place, a Stark place, where his nameless gods ruled. It was he who had to seek guidance from the old gods.

After her birth, she was anointed with the seven oils and blessed in the seven names of god in the rainbow Sept of her girlhood home. She was of the Faith, like her father and his father and father before him. Her gods had names, and were familiar to her as her children were, there was the Mother, Maid, Warrior, Father, Crone and lastly, the Stranger.

The Tullys kept a godswood like most great houses, but they were used for relaxing, walking or peaceful reading. Worship was reserved for the Sept, rooms filled with incense, color stained glass alive with light, the sound of a Septons voice as he preached.

For her sake, Brandon built a small sept shortly after they wed. Only she and her niece Serena and two Septons and a Septa used it. The rest of the household worshiped the old gods. Her Bran had dreams of knighthood, and that was an order reserved for the Faith, but he was much too young to understand such things.

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood stood, tall and proud over a small pool, the water black and still and cold. ''The heart tree'' Brandon had called it, the weirwoods bark was white as bone, five pointed leaves red, like a thousand blood stained hands. Like all the weirwoods, a face had been carved into the center of the tree; the features long and melancholy, it reminded her of her husband's brother.

Those eyes were old, older than Winterfell itself, carved by the children of the forest before man had crosses the arm of Dorne a thousand years ago. They watched her as she walked towards her husband.

Seated on a moss covered stone was her lord husband: Brandon Stark, firstborn son and heir of Lord Rickard Stark, heir to Winterfell and Warden of the North. Ice was across his lap, seemingly drinking in the light as he cleaned it in the cold black water of the pool. Her good father was in bad health, so her husband became acting Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North in his stead, but it was only a matter of time until he passed Luwin said.

''Brandon,'' she called softly, her and her husband were formal to each other as of late. When they wed, it was like a fairytale, he was charming and sweet, if a bit haughty and hotheaded. That all change when he received word of his sisters kidnapping at the hand of Rhaegar Targaryen. He rode off with his companions, set on bringing his sister back, but all he got was grief and embarrassment. Stripped naked, whipped, and dragged through out the city, Brandon and his father were the laughing stock of every man in the capital.

After the shame he received in King's Landing, he became cold and distant to her, more so after the twins were taken from them. Her heart ached for her little Rickard and Sansa, she longed to be with them, but the king decreed that for their treason, her children must be raised with a house that had proved more loyal. He lifted his head to look at her.

''Catelyn,'' he said, voice distant as usual, ''where are the children?'' He always asked that, the fear he had of his sister being kidnapped moved onto their children. 

''In the kitchen, arguing over the names of their new pups.'' The children that remained to her were cherished dearly by both their mother and their father, even her good nephew, Torrhen Stark was cherished. Eddard Stark rarely left Moat Cailin since the rebellion, but he sent his firstborn to be fostered at Winterfell with the rest of his cousins. Of that she was thankful, though he couldn't replace Rickard in her heart, in felt good to have a home full of children again.

She spread her cloak and sat beside him, her back to the weirwood, she felt as if she could feel the eyes watching her, but she ignored it. 

''Arya is in love, Bran is charmed, but Cregan is unsure I think.'' 

''Is he afraid?'' He asked.

''Yes,'' she admitted. ''He is only three,''

Brandon frowned at her. ''He must learn to face his fears, he won't be three forever, and winter is coming.'' He said coldly.

''Yes,'' she whispered. The words gave her chills. The Stark words. Every house had their words. Family mottoes, oaths of fealty, boasts of bravery and chivalry and prowess.  _Hear me roar, growing strong, family,duty, honor, ours is the fury, fire and blood._ Not the Starks, Winter is Coming, they said. Not for the first time, she thought on how queer the Northern people were.

''The man died well, I'll give him that.'' Brandon reflected, he moved the oilcloth up and down the blade. It was from Valyria, from before the seven kingdoms when dragons and magic ruled the world. The ripples showed the art that went into the craft, it had been folded and re-folded and re-folded again. Four hundred years old, and it was as sharp as they day it was forged. Valyrian steel never lost its edge.

''He was the fourth this year,'' He said with a frown. ''The man was half mad, didn't even fight as the men brought him to the block.'' He then rubbed his temples.

''Ben says the Watch is down a thousand, Ser Stannis also writes, asking for more men and supplies. It is not only desertions, they are losing men on rangings,'' Fear seized her heart.

''Is it the wildlings?'' She asked.

''Who else? Sooner or later I'm going to call the banners and deal with this king beyond the wall.''

''Beyond the Wall?'' Cat hated how her voice squeaked. Brandon must have saw her face. He took her hands in his.

''Mance Rayder is nothing for us to fear, my lady.''

''There are darker things beyond the Wall,'' she insisted. Brandon smirked.

''You have been listening to Old Nan too much, the Others are a thousands years dead. The Children of the Forest as well, Luwin will tell you they never existed, no living man has ever seen them.'' Cat frowned.

''And until this morning no man ever saw a living direwolf.'' He let out a laugh, low and raspy.

''I should have known better than to argue with a Tully.'' Cat rolled her eyes in amusement.

''You did not come here to speak to me of wet nurse tales, I know you mislike this place.'' She could not deny that.

''It's the king.'' she said, his eyes grew icy and cold.

''What of him?'' He demanded of her.

''He is making a royal progress of all seven realms, we shall be the last stop.'' She then took a step closer, ''he's bringing Rickard and Sansa with him.'' Hie softened at the names of his children, but went cold again.

''How do you know this?'' He asked. She had no choice but to produce the letter, Brandon's mouth twisted into a snarl.

''Lyanna's own hand,'' he spat.

''If they expect me to kiss their arse after all they done-!'' She stopped him.

''Please Brandon, for the love you bear our children, don't cause a scene. We haven't Sansa since she was seven, Rickard for at least two years! I long for them, as you do, please my lord.'' He gave a curt nod, then pressed his lips into a thin line.

''The dragon flies into the wolf's den, so be it.'' He said coldly.

''How much time do we have to prepare?''

''Lots,'' she told him. ''They will be going to every major castle in each region, and we are last on the list. We should send a raven to Castle Black to Benjen, and another to Moat Cailin to Lord Eddard, they should be here when the king arrives.'' Brandon's mouth frowned.

''Very well, will Lord Arryn be in attendance? That it the only way we can drive Ned from his hovel.'' Cat frowned at her husband's cruelty. Ned had fostered at the Eyrie, with the then childless Lord Jon Arryn. The man had become a second father to him, and became as close as brothers with his ward, Robert Baratheon. When the Mad King demanded their heads, Jon rose in rebellion rather than give up those he swore to protect.

Eddard had watched Robert die, screaming in terror as Stormcloud devoured him. Then he realized that his best friend's death was for nothing, as his sister hadn't truly been kidnapped at all. Not only was his foster father greatly abused by Lannister men when they sacked Riverrun, he was also forced to either give up himself as a hostage or watch as his entire family as put to the sword.

Her husband's brother was a broken man, but took solace in religion, fasting frequently and praying almost daily in the godswood. He remained at Moat Cailin with his wife, the only time he left it was when his brother had called his banners to defend the North from the Ironborn. He only had two children, Torrhen and Serena, but while the boy was undoubtedly his son, sharing his long brown hair and grey eyes, Catelyn had her suspicions about the girls parentage. The last time she'd seen Eddard, he was thin and frail from constant fasts, and even went so far as to sleep in the godswood, refusing to sleep in the same bed as his wife. How he was able to father the girl she wasn't sure.

''Lord Arryn is the Hand of the king, I think he will remain in King's Landing.'' Brandon snorted.

''I figured. Well, Ned will have no choice, I'll command him in father's name.'' Cat thought that would do nothing but raise his ire, but she said nothing.

''He will be visiting everyone before he gets to us, so we'll have time to prepare. A raven must be sent to White Harbor, fat as he is, Wyman knows how to throw a good revel. Singers, jugglers. . . a hunt perhaps?'' She said cheerfully.

''No. I'll swallow a sword before a take that bloody man through  _my_ woods.'' Brandon said angrily. 

''Brandon-'' she started, only for him to wave his hand dismissively.

''You have all the control, my lady. I should write to Benjen anyway. See to the letter that gets to Ned, though.'' She was disapointed, but not surprised, the children of Rickard Stark were barely in communication, Benjen being the only one to have anything resembling a relationship with all his siblings. Brandon became domineering, somewhat cruel and demanding of his siblings, which further pushed his younger brothers from his guidance. 

Lyanna was regretful in the beginning. Cat remembered it like it was yesterday, the king stood before them, though he was a prince back then. Arthur Dayne and Daeron Targaryen next to him. Stormcloud and Vermithor casting great shadows over them, like giant serpents hissing and spitting flame. Lyanna was there to, a silver haired, grey eyed boy in her arms, looking horrified at the state of her brother and father.

Whipped and chained at the neck, Brandon and his father were brought before Rhaegar. Cat was left unharmed mostly, to the sorrow of the Lannister men. Lysa was shaking like a leaf, while father had pure hatred on his face. It was Lyanna who formally begged for mercy on her behalf, and it was her who begged Rhaegar to spare her the twins she gave birth to. Rhaegar listened, but not without exceptions.

Brandon, Benjen, Hoster, Jon, and Eddard all had to make obeisance before the Iron Throne, in front of the king Aerys II. After they confessed their treason, they would be allowed to live. But Lysa would be forced into a marriage with Jaime Lannister, Father would have to send Edmure to squire at King's Landing, and she would have to give up her children as hostages. 

 _''Refuse,''_ Rhaegar had said, silver-white hair combed neatly into a tail,  _''and your houses will be destroyed, root and stem. The Riverlands will go to House Darry, and the North will go to my son by Lyanna.''_ They agreed. None of them were the same again.

Benjen became obsessed with the Watch, and when he was six and ten, finally left Winterfell to take the black. Eddard fell in with religion, developing a group of loyal men who followed him to a almost cult-like degree of loyalty. Traveling around the lands surrounding Moat Cailin and the Neck Brandon's brother often led prayer circles and claimed to have the power of healing bestowed upon him by the old gods themselves. Brandon considered him mad,  _can you blame him?_ Jon later remarried and had a son, replacing his nephew as heir, but other than that, he seemed well off. Lysa always wrote letter describing her happy life with the young lion, and though he never returned to his home, Edmure was saying to be enjoying life.

''Hopefully Rickard and Sansa will stay for good. They are almost to adulthood. . .'' Brandon frowned.

''In days of old, Starks were kings in their own right, not I sit here begging for my own children like a peasant begging for bread. An outrage!'' His hand curled into fists.

''Damn him,'' Brandon cursed. ''Damn the Targaryen's and their royal hides!'' She let him rage, and afterwards she left to make the preparations. _I shall be reunited with my children soon._  

* * *

 


	3. Chapter III

**DAENERYS**

 

The soft sounds of high harp were interrupted by her brother's loud and cheerful voice. 

''Daenerys, Daenerys!'' Dany turned her head, steaming water swishing softly as she moved. Hands placed on the pink marble of the raised tub, she lifted herself up and wrapped a soft linen robe around her.

Her brother's silver hair was tied back with a dragon bone brooch, where slips of gold could be seen. His velvet tunic reached the tops of his knees, and was finely embroidered with the red dragon of their house. Leather doublet was under, with a high snakeskin collar that framed his young comely face. Leather belt was fastened with silver etchings, and a jeweled encrusted longsword hanged there lazily. The Lord of Duskendale look splendid.

''Brother,'' she said calmly, raising an eyebrow. ''Is there something the matter?'' Viserys shook his head, playful lilac eyes full of wonder.

''Not at all sister. Look what Illyrio has gifted you.'' Her brother held up the gown of her inspection, it was violet, the same color as her eyes. ''Go on. Touch it. Touch the fabric.''

Daenerys touched it, the garment was so smooth it seemed like water through her fingers. It delighted her. Silks and velvets were always in her wardrobe, but never anything quite like this. 

''Is it mine?'' She asked, Viserys nodded.

''Magister Manolo has requested that we dine with him in his manse. We also must pay homage to Ordello at his court. You should make nice with his wife, I heard you two have been quarrelling.'' That was no secret. When they first called upon Magister Ordello, his whore had been flirting with Viserys the whole time, giving him lusty eyes and suggestive smiles. They're feud began there, but had not ended. So much so that Ordello's wench convinced her husband to raise prices on his goods higher and higher, to the point where the was more losses than profit. Their purpose here was to lower the prices, according to Rhaegar.

''Ordello has no wives, only concubines.'' She said angrily. Viserys clicked his tongue and shook his head.

''Nonetheless, you shall be the Lady of Duskendale soon. Many merchants and concubines will call upon you, but you cannot mock them so savagely or else we'll lose business.'' Dany nodded, but not without grumbling. 

''Why must we stay with Illyrio? You know how I dislike his slaving.''

''Pentos is forbidden to keep slaves.'' Daenerys snorted.

''Don't play the fool brother. I know about the pillow girls he has you bedding.'' Her violet eyes became sharp and angry when she looked to her betrothed. Her brother had the decency to blush. 

''They're whores Dany, you have no reason to be jealous.'' She seethed.  _Jealous?! By what right would I be jealous of a whore?_

''I want them drinking moontea.'' She insisted, her brother nodded.

''As you will. Stay inside until I get you, Khal Drogo's horde has been seen within the walls. All the Magisters are gathering to give gifts and honors to the  _Khal_.'' She couldn't help but frown.

''The world is rotten when civilized men must cower in fear from stinking barbarians.'' Viserys smirked.

''Well, every lord needs a beast from time to time. Why do you think Lord Tywin keeps Ser Gregor around?'' That brought laughter from deep within her. Tywin Lannister was Hand under her father for nearly twenty years, and during all of them he attempted to have her brother wed his daughter Cersei, but when Rhaegar married Shaena instead, the Lord of Casterly Rock refused to accept defeat, proposing that she marry Daeron, until he was named to the Kingsguard. 

Her brother Jaehaerys was already promised to a lady of house Velaryon, and Aegon his own niece by Rhaegar. But that wasn't until after the rebellion. In the end Cersei wed Elbert Arryn, but even that proved futile, as Jon Arryn promptly remarried and had sons after discovering his nephews betrayal. Viserys' eyes roamed her body, finally landing on her budding breasts, making Dany blush.

''Mother says we are to wed soon.'' Of that fact she was aware. Ever since her birth, she knew she would marry into the family. To keep the dragon-line pure, mother said. Not that other lords and knights didn't try. Mace Tyrell offered a handsome bride price, as well as Ser Jaime for his son Tommen. Edmure Tully, Lord Rowan, and Randyll Tarly all played court to her when she visited their lands, hoping to gain a marriage alliance with house Targaryen. Her half-brother Aurane boasted of building High Tide and Spicetown to their former glories should she wed him, despite not having any clue where he'd get the coin for such a thing, and her nephew Aegon also spoke of wedding her.

Mother had different plans however, after Viserys was named Lord of Duskendale by Rhaegar, she proposed that she marry him. Shaena refused, since Dany was the only pure blooded Targaryen girl left, as Aegon's sisters were much too young to be wed. Rhaegar had a daughter from his second marriage, but Jaehaera was already betrothed to Jaehaerys, and they both had Stark blood.

Her cousin Maekar had a daughter, and as Lord of High Hermitage she'd make a suitable queen consort, but he only had three. One had been betrothed to Edric Dayne of Starfall, the other to Cletus Yronwood of Yronwood, and the other was reserved for his firstborn, to keep his own blood line pure. Her brother Aegon's daughters were to young, and set to marry their brothers anyhow, and Jaehaerys had fell deeply out of Rhaegar's favor, so it was no point in even asking if his daughter would wed Aegon.

Aerion also had a daughter, of age with her, but queerly, she was never mentioned as possible brides. 

''I grow sick of waiting.'' She announced grumpily, her brother smiled.

''Well, you won't have to wait for long, sister. I'll send for the slaves to bathe you, when I return, we must head on for Magister Ormello's manse.'' Dany nodded at once. 

The slaves came faster than she expected, a young girl and an old woman. Both from Lys, by their coloring. They scrubbed her head to toe, and lathered her in sweet smelling soap before scrubbing her clean. The old woman said nothing, but the young girl couldn't stop talking about Khal Drogo. How handsome he was, how he was brave and strong and fearless and battle. It bored her to no end.  _Half the men in westeros are handsome brave and strong. But none of them are clever or cautious._

The water was scalding, yet Dany did not flinch.  _Ours is the blood of the dragon,_ Rhaegar had told her once,  _the fire is in our veins._ The woman washed her hair and brushed it until it shone like molten silver. When they were done, they lathered her in moisturizing butter and put scented oils on her body. Behind her ears, on her nipples, and in between her thighs. 

''Drogo is so rich that his slaves wear golden collars,'' the girl chirped as he brought the silk gown.

''A hundred thousand men ride in his  _khalasar,_ and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred doors of solid silver.'' There was much and more of her thoughts, so much so that Dany began wishing she could see this Drogo in the flesh.  _Perhaps Viserys could write about him in that book of his._ Her brother was not like most men, who's thoughts only consisted of battle and sex. Viserys had substance, and that was why he was so dear to her heart.

Though he was no Maester, her brother became deeply interested in the cultures of Essos and beyond. So upon his sixteenth name day, he took a lords progress through the Free Cities and wrote down their customs and cultures and languages and fashions. His writings were well received as well, Rhaegar had read the whole thing by the first night, Mother praised him for his intelligence, and Grand Maester Pycelle proclaimed it the finest history of the cities of Essos he'd ever read.

Daeron laughed and said it was a waste of time, but he'd never been of any use besides fighting anyhow. Jaehaerys was too fat and foolish to be able to understand Viserys' greatness and while Aegon was intelligent enough to grasp the material, he was simply to busy as Master of Coin to ever sit down and read his brothers work.

After her bath they brought up a few extra wisps from Magister Illyrio. The deep plum silk gown felt even more soft as she wore it, and seemed to shimmer in the light. The girl slid gilded sandals onto her feet, while the woman fixed the tiara into her hair. It was her mother's, worn the day she took her father to husband. A slim gold band riddled with black diamonds and sapphires. Golden bracelets encrusted with amethysts were slid up her wrists, and pearls were placed in her ears. Last of all came a great collar, her father's old gorget. It was a heavy old golden torc, emblazoned with red Valyrian glyphs. 

''You look splendid, princess.'' The girl said breathlessly when they were done, Dany gave her a smile and said, "Only thanks to your efforts.'' 

Dany walked out of the bath's room, accompanied by the silent old woman and the chattering young girl. Her brother was sitting at the entrance of the entry hall, making small talk with one of the guardsmen. Tyroshi, by the look of his purple forked beard and forest-green curls. His lands were slowly drawing across the pool small indoor waterfall. When he saw her, he seemed stunned still.

''Daenerys. . . you look-''

''Regal,'' Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising grace for a massive man. Beneath the loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled and jostled as he moved. Gemstones glittered on every finger, black diamond, amethyst, emerald, jade and opal. Slaves had oiled his yellow forked beard until it shone like real gold. 

''May the Lord of Light shower you with blessings this day, Princess Daenerys.'' She almost snorted. Instead, she gave a smile and a curtsey. They began to walk towards the outside courtyard. Viserys was speaking to Illyrio, but she was only half listening.

''. . . have any advice on how to deal with Magister Ormello?'' Her brother said with a smile. Illyrio snorted haughty. 

''Magister? More like usurper, I was the rightful candidate for the title of Prince. My first wife was a cousin to our great ruler, you see. But Ormello and his cronies plotted to steal my throne and seat his brother upon it.'' Viserys was amused by the Magister's tale by the quirk of his lips, but instead nodded.

''Yes, it's a shame. But we shouldn't hold grudges, Illyrio? Nay, we should learn to  _forgive._ '' Her brother turned his head, lilac eyes staring into hers. Dany rolled them. They walked back around the the front entrance of the manse, where Unsullied stood sentry at the black iron gates. Pointed caps jutted proudly into the sky, but there was no emotion in their faces.  _Dead men walking,_ Dany thought, a shiver went through her.

Men brought their horses to them. Her silver's mane had just been brushed until it looked nearly as good as her masters. Viserys preferred a blood bay with a crimson mane and skin of burned copper. Illyrio would not be attending them however, as he had business on the docks. Too fat to sit a horse, his litter was carried by four Unsullied, spears strapped to their backs and short swords to their hips.

And so they rode, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard and ten other knights accompanied them, but their men-at-arms and sworn swords remained behind. ''Can we fly today?'' She asked her brother, Vermax was large and thriving every year, even more so after he relocated from the Dragonpit to the free fields of Duskendale. Her brother's beast was splendid as well, for Sunfyre had drawn amazing crowds everywhere they went, more so in Volantis.

''Of course sister, right after you apologize to Ormello's wife.''

''I will not kiss up to that harlot.'' She said angrily, her brother didn't even look her way.

''Yes you will. Trade between the Dun Fort and Pentos is too important for it to be demolished for your pride. You will apologize, or mother will no the reason why.'' That gave her pause, but her pride refused to let her bend.

''I am not a child, afraid of a mother's tongue lashing.'' She protested, Viserys chortled.

''Just see that you do as I asked.'' Furious, she dug her heels into her spurs and rode away. 

\------------- 

She had expected a lavish lair, Ormello was one of the richest men in Pentos, and had bragged about his wealth. But his manse put Illyrio's to shame. It was the size of a market town, with high brick walls topped with iron spikes. Unsullied stood at the top of the gates, staring down at her with cold, dead eyes.

A marble statue stood in the middle of the lush front yard of the manse. The marble man held a sword in his hand, pointing at the sky, his mouth howling a war cry. Surrounding his marble feet was a pool, the water shooting out the spout in the man's groin.

On both sides of the statue the yard was lush and green and well trimmed. Close to the manse, a lush garden of flowers filled the air with a sweet scent. Thick marble walls reflected a pink hue in the sunlight, but as Dany looked closer she could see a faint hint of glitter on the manse's surface. Gold motif trailed softly down the white sandstone drive, her horse hooves clopping softly as she rode up.

Several slaves knelt to her as she dismounted, soon after Ser Oswell Whent came in on a white charge, steel plate gleaming to a deafening sheen. 

''This one has the honor of presenting her Grace to Magister Ormello. Would you be pleased to take refreshment?'' A eunuch asked, his voice high and sweet.

''I would. Wine for me and my brother, Oswell?'' She asked politely, the white knight smiled.

''Forgive me Your Grace, I cannot partake while on duty.'' She nodded.

Viserys came in next on his bloody-bay, twisting the gemstones rings on his fingers. The wind had been at his fine silver hair, making him seem disheveled and unkempt. Several more men came and took their horses for them, while Unsullied in pointy caps escorted them to Ormello's main hall. Ser Oswell led them, along with the other knights that accompanied them.

Ser Jorah was by far her favorite. The Bear Knight as she called him was the Lord of Bear Island in the north, the few men from that region to venture south. He had been brought to court by his lady wife, the Hightower woman who was once betrothed to her brother Rhaegar.

Immediately she became enthralled with him. While Lynesse courted Shaena and peddled her children to any man who would take them, Jorah sought himself a place in the City Watch, and eventually becoming commander of the Gate of the Gods. For his valor in the War of the Usurper (even though he fought on the wrong side) and the Greyjoy Rebellion, he was knighted by her brother the king himself. 

Thus he was chosen to accompany Dany and her brother as they dickered for cheaper trade offers in Pentos. Clad in dark grey steel, the forest-green of his surcoat stood out handsomely against his plain armor.

Black leather sheath houses his sword, Longclaw it was named, and worth more than all the gold and gemstones Dany had ever owned. His hairy hand clasped around it tightly. He began telling her stories of his childhood, and by the time they reached the main hall, she was red-faced from laughter. He was a funny man, this Jorah Mormont.

''When I was half a boy, mine own mother took me hunting one day. She was a Umber, and their women are all thick and broad and homely, but successful in the birthing chamber as any. On this day, he happened a chance a bear in the woods. Now I couldn't have been older than your Grace, but I was already tall as your brother, and so strong I could rip wood stumps in half-'' 

Before he could finish his tale, her brother was upon her.

''I'm sure that was a lovely tale and all, Mormont, but I have need of my sister.'' Dany opened her mouth to protest, but Viserys grabbed her wrist and half-dragged her away from the knight. As she looked back, she saw Jorah's face reddening with anger, fingers gripping Longclaw's hilt so tight it was like to snap off.

Soon as they were far enough away, Viserys wheeled her around, his face was red.

''Just who do you think you are? By what right do you think you can embarrass me in such a fashion, me your brother, your future husband!'' Dany looked at her brother.

''What are you talking about? We were just japing-'' He cut her off.

''Gods, are you really as stupid as you seem right now? Jaehaerys warned me you were dumb, but I thought he was jealous. How could he not be, when his own wife is fat as a cow. Do you really think that upjumped peasant cares a whit about you? He wants to  _fuck you_ Dany, just like all those smelly old perverts that dicker for your hand.'' Fury roiled in her throat.

''Jorah would never do such a thing!'' Viserys' lilac eyes narrowed.

''You will never be alone with him again.''

''But-''

'' _NO BUTS!_ You cannot be this naive, Daenerys. Everyone knows those bastard boys aren't his seed, and who better to convince the king to agree to annulment than his precious, famed little sister?'' His grip was so tight she began to lose feeling in her fingers.

''Viserys you're hurting me.'' She complained, voice trembling with anger. He didn't let go.

''I do not trust him around you, Dany. You're mine, not his. Next time you talk to him, I'll send you his head.'' With that he finally let her go. Viserys straightened out his tunic, and offered his arm. Dany did everything she could not to cringe, her brother was a capable warrior and a more than capable jouster, but that was in tourney. Her brother had fought in no battles. Ser Jorah was not only a tourney champion, but a knight renowned for his ferocity on the battle, she did not want to know what Jorah would do to Viserys.

''You shall apologize or Ordello's wife. We will leave this manse with favorable trade terms.'' She nodded, not having any other choice, and allowed herself to be walked towards the main ballroom.

Ordello was a man of Ghiscari blood, who's claim as Prince of Pentos came through his mother, not his father. His wiry red-black hair was cut short, while a pointed beard was dyed crimson. _This man was very fat,_  Dany noticed. Not as fat as Illyrio, but fat enough that he seemed to tremble as he stood.

The woman she would be forced to apologize to stood next to him, pretending she loved the fat man next to her. Her skin was pale as milk, but her hair was a shade lighter than gold, more a honey color. When she turned her head, the gems upon her brow glittered and gleamed.  _By what right does she wear a crown?_

Her pale blue eyes grew cold when she looked upon her and warm when she saw her brother, Dany stiffened. Viserys had locked his arm firmly in hers, when she tried to tug away, he refused to let go.

''Let me  _go,_ '' She hissed angrily. Her brother was stupid. So very stupid.  _Thank the gods Rhaegar is the firstborn instead of him._ He had hurt her, shamed her, and for what? Assumptions. _When you assume it makes an ass out of you and me,_ her mother had told her once.

Viserys stared at her before letting her go. Dany walked slowly around people to get to the couple. Ordello did not stint himself by far, Dany realized. Pale Qartheen men served men wine and food on painted stilts, carved jewelry of jade and gold hanging through their ears. One such man, had a jade carving of an elephant the size of her hand hanging in his ear, while another's ruby encrusted gold lip plate glittered everytime he moved his head. 

Fools and jesters japed, hopping about in fresh suits of motley. Sword swallowers and flame breathers delighted the elite race of Pentos, she noticed. Manela, Illyrio's daughter by Saera, was seen talking sweetly to one of her knights. Her brother Viserys had already stolen away Ordello, and was talking with fervor about something. 

A long table stretched to both ends of the hall, filled with flagons of wine, silver plates engrained with golden scrollwork, and massive amounts of food. Her silk gown moved like water under her, her golden collar suddenly becoming heavy on her neck. When she approached her, Ordello's wife curtseyed. 

''Princess,'' she said as she brought herself back up. Dany forced herself to smile.

''Lemore.'' She said, forcing sweetness into her voice. 

''Your dress is wonderful, Princess. Might I ask who your seamstress is?'' 

''Courtesy of my noble host Illyrio. I must say I do not know who produced such finery.'' She smiled at her, Dany opened her mouth to speak, but the woman cut her off.

''Your brother's velvet is fine as well, smoother than I have ever seen. It is to hot in Pentos for me to wear such things, but your Sunset Kingdoms has queer temperatures, yes?'' Her smile curdled. 

''My brother's clothing is the finest money can by, surely Ordello cannot abide such quality for so many people? How many natural children have you bore him, three? I hope I prove to be as fertile a woman as you, my lady. My mother was fertile as well, I have six siblings to show for it. Do you have many siblings, my lady?''

Lemore's face had grown pale, her mouth twisted as if she ate something sour. Before she could speak Dany said, ''My mother always raised me and my siblings. Even though it was custom for highborn children to be raised by septa's and servants. She taught us that we ought to take accountability for our actions, and to know when we are wrong. My brother must have been asleep during that lessen, as he never took responsibility for the war of the Usurper, but that is neither here nor there. What I mean to say is, my lady, is that I have oft been. . . uncourteous when speaking of you. The fact that you continually proposition my brother spurs me on, yes, but it no excuse. I apologize.''

The woman's mouth opened, then confusion was replaced by fury ''I have never propositioned the Prince-'' Dany curtseyed. 

''As fortunate as this conversation was, I have other business to attend.'' Before she could say anything else Dany swirled around and left. Ser Jorah Mormont was in the far side on the corner, flames from the braziers shining against his dull steel. His face seemed sad. When she looked at the large, bulky face of Mormont, she could scarce tell the resemblance between him and his five sons.  _Those boys are too comely to be his seed, could they really be bastards like Viserys says? Could he be using me for an annulment?_

Dany shook her head, Viserys was just being jealous as usual. Ever since they're betrothal had been announced, he had been more and more suspicious of men she would talk to. Even her own steward was questioned closely, the poor boy.

She had a taste for fresh air, so she maneuvered her way once again through the sea of people through the court and excited to the pillard outside. A beautiful dusky rose settled over the sunsight sky, orange sun gleaming sweetly against the pink background. Several of the men outside were Dothraki, she noticed, big men with amber skin and black almond shaped eyes.

Their hair was oiled and braided, some falling down past their wastes. When the horselords walked, the bells in their hair made sweet  _clink clink clink_ sounds. Dothraki were not the only guests, among them she noticed several bravos from Tyrosh, smelling of sweet perfumes, colorful clothing dyed hair making them stand out. A red priest and flowing robes sat in a cushioned throne, and by the look of him he was fatter than Ordello and Illyrio combined.

Hairy men from Ib and princes from the Summer Isles with skin black as ebony walked about. Suddenly, Dany realized she was the only woman there. Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and turned to walk back inside the manse. Viserys was at the entrance.

He strode up to her and whispered in her ear. ''That is Khal Drogo,'' he said excitedly. Her brother had been writing about the Dothraki, but the language barrier prevented him from learning more about them.

''Do you see how long his hair is?'' Viserys continued, Dany nodded.

''When Dothraki are defeated in battle, their foes cut off their braids so the world can know their shame. Khal Drogo has  _never_ been defeated.'' Dany found that exciting, the man in question wore a golden collar on his neck and on his belt, while wrist were adorned by silver bracelets encrusted with rubies. Gifts from the Magisters she knew, the Dothraki friendship does not come cheap.

''I ought to speak to him, but I do not know the Dothraki tongue well.'' She could see the curiosity flaming in her brother's eyes, she was less concerned, however.

''Your promised me we would fly together,'' she whispered to him.

'' _After_ you apologized.'' He replied.

''I did.'' Viserys raised a brow, then nodded.

''Very well, Ordello has agreed to more favorable terms, are you sure you don't wish to eat? He served me this swann poached in sweet Braavosi sauced before being roasted in almond nuts-it was delicious.''  Dany shook her head. All that was on her mind was Vermax. He would probably be hunting by now, but she hadn't flew him in two days,  _even dragons need time to themselves,_ Viserys told her.

''Very well.'' And so they left.

\------------


	4. Chapter IV

**ARTHUR**

 

The boy's swords met wit a flash of steel and oak under his watchful eye.  _They are good, better than I expected._ The Lord Commander had been blessed with his sweet sisters visit, and with her came the children. 

He had more nephews, down in Starfall. Samwell was turning seven and ten this year, while Edric had just turned twelve. He loved them dearly, but he could not visit them as much as he wanted. Not only for his duty, but for his stormy relationship with his elder brother.

Ashara Dayne was their mother, but Jon Connington could only be their father. All four boys shared their father bright red hair, but two had Ashara's violet eyes, while the other two had Jon's pretty blue orbs. Ormund, Alyn, Rhaegar, and Reynard were their names, but they looked so much alike he could scarce tell the difference. 

''Enough,'' he called out, the boys immediately stopped.

''Have some water, then get some rest. Will pick up on the morrow.'' The boys smiled.

''Thanks uncle Arthur!'' They all chorsued at once,  _they might as well be twins._

King's Landing was busy, the king's sudden announcement had sent the city into a panic. Knights and freeriders were pouring into the city, eager to show their prowess before the king in the tourney that would be held before the set out on the progress, to the sorrow of the Gold Cloaks.

The Hand was less sympathetic, and threatened poor Janos Slynt with his own demotion before sending him off. Jon had served amiably as Hand, but was often considered harsh. Especially after Ashara discovered she was pregnant. Her husband was prone to fits of anxiety and nervousness, more than Ashara herself sometimes. 

The first boy was named Raymund, born shortly after the rebellion. He had served him at court as squire, and acted as the king's own cupbearer, until Arthur knighted him one year past.  _He has more talent in his pinky than the other squires. If his name wasn't Connington, I'd consider him my successor for Dawn._

 His mind trailed back to his sister. She had visited frequently, each time presenting him with a new niece or nephew, but he still thought there was resentment behind her smiles.  _I did the right thing, my sister was worth more than a traitor's brother._

Arthur remembered Eddard Stark, the shy, quiet lordling who stole glances at his sister throughout the whole feast at Harrenhal. Only when his brother asked for him was he bold enough to take her hand and lead her on the floor, but even then he was clumsy, stepping on her toes more times than he could count.  _My sister needs a man, not a nervous boy,_ he remembered thinking.

Ashara had other ideas. The boys shyness only managed to double the affection she had for him, and tripled her anger when father brusquely refused the match when it was presented. 

 _''Our blood is the blood of kings,''_ Father had said angrily,  _''You are a Dayne of Starfall. You are worth more than the second son of some northern savage.''_

His mind wandered to the Trident, where Robert Baratheon made his stand against the Prince of Dragonstone. Or so he thought. In actuality it was Arthur in Rhaegar's black steel plate, red silk cloak flying behind him as he charged. Rhaegar was far away, so high in the sky that none could see his dragon. The rebels learned that, to their woe.

Arthur flexed his sword hand. 

He remembered Eddard's pathetic face when unsheathed Dawn, the pale blade glowing. The boy even had the gall to ask for his sisters hand, right before the battle.

_''I would let myself be consumed by maggots before I let my sister wed such traitorous scum as you.''_

''Lord Commander,'' the sudden voice startled him, breaking him out of his thoughts. Arthur turned around, only to see Maegor Targaryen. The Sword of the Morning bowed before the blood royal.

''Prince Maegor, how may I be of service?'' The lad was dressed in squire's garb, black quilted doublet with the red three headed dragon, and black lambswool breeches with dove skin boots. Tall and skinny, the boy was not similar in build to his father Aerion, who had big and hulkling, with a thick neck and arms the size of his thighs.

''His Grace the King wishes to see you in the Small Council chamber.'' Arthur nodded. After sending the boy away, he placed the white steel helm on his head, covering his pale blond curls. His armor clinked as he made his way to his king. He flexed his sword hand.

On his way he passed Ser Barristan. ''Ser Barristan,'' he greeted cordially, ''Who guards the king?'' He questioned.

''Ser Balon Swann stands outside the council chambers, while Prince Lewyn is posted at the bridge on Maegor's Holdfast.'' The old knight spoke his words grudgingly, but that was not unexpected. Ever since he was passed over for the title of Lord Commander, he treated Arthur with some kind of resentment.

 _You are lucky he lets you keep your head, traitor._ After the battle, Barristan was found in the rebel camp, giving them  _counsel._ While the old knight swore he did not forswear himself, anyone who could refute that was dead. Robert burned alive after being judged a traitor by Rhaegar, Lord Fell's head was split open by Oswell's morning star, and Ser Wylam Estermont, heir to Greenstone who attended both Robert and Barristan, was cut down by Dawn in his attempt to reach Stark.  _He dishonored my sister, I had no course but to wash it out with his blood._

Arthur nodded and left the knight to his business. Maegor's Holdfast was a formidable castle, thick red walls and a deep dry moat filled with iron spikes some of its many defenses. Like Barristan promised, Prince Lewyn Martell was guarding the end of the bridge.

''Brother,'' he said at once to his Dornish kin, Lewyn smiled, and clasped his hand.

''Lord Commander,'' Lewyn said, ''His Grace wished to see you.''

Inside the Small Council chambers every member of the council gathered, and were dressed in all their finery, he observed. The King himself look splendid, wearing a cloth-of-gold doublet with black velvet half cape, his crown settling nicely upon his head. It was a new one, heavy gold with dragons exquisitely wrought in sets of jade and ruby, small slivers of sapphires flashing when he turned his head.

Jon Connington also dressed well, red velvet doublet with red wolf skin cloak trimmed with vair, the heavy gold chain of his office hanging down to his navel. He smiled when he saw his good-brother.

Aegon Targaryen, the king's second youngest brother served on the council as Master of Coin. Half his coin went to clothes Arthur suspected, his burgundy and bronze brocade was embroidered gorgeously onto the fabric of his tunic. The skirt was fringed with gold silk, and hid his black silk breeches. His high black boots were studded with silver fastenings, while jewels and gems adorned his fingers, neck, and ears.

Petyr Baelish served as an advisor to Aegon, and was suggested by Jon Arryn himself, after he confided that he tripled earnings at Gulltown. His slashed velvet doublet was filled with cream-and-silver. 

Pycelle was stroking his great white beard, finely long robes of black and gold lined in crimson silk. The High Septon's crystal crown flashed a rainbow every time he turned his head, and stood nearly two feet tall. His robes were cloth-of-silver, but several gems adorned his fingers, while a heavy gold necklace hung low on his body.  _Rhaegar emptied the bank on that one._

Jon Arryn served as Master of Laws, but his garb was plain. Studded leather jerkin over quilted doublet, breeches of brown rough-spun, with worn boots. _Another difference between him and his nephew._ Varys fussed over Aegon in robes of lilac broace, while Monford Velaryon whispered to the king.

Arthur's white scale armor was the finest coin could buy, produced by Tobho Mott on the Street of Steel. The Targaryen sigil was etched in silver, while the sigil of house Dayne held up his great wool cloak.

He sunk to his knees, ''Your Grace.'' 

''Rise, Lord Commander, have a seat.'' The king commanded. Arthur did as he was bid, taking off his helm along the way. The meeting began.

''Your Grace,'' Prince Aegon said, ''I have calculated the expenses for the royal trip. But there are certain delays. . .'' Rhaegar frowned.

''What delays?'' 

''I assume we will call upon Prince Doran in Sunspear, but ever since that instance with Prince Oberyn and Jaehaerys, I fear it would be unwise. . .'' Last time Jaehaerys went to Dorne, he attempted to force himself on Elia Martell. That was the only time Arthur broke his vow. He grew up with the Martell's as a boy, serving as page then squire with Prince Oberyn. Elia was like a sister to him.

She was always of gentle health, and needed a kind, patient man to deal with her bouts of sickness. She was of Targaryen blood herself, and deemed sufficient enough for a third son. Jaehaerys pretended to be a man that Elia deserved, but before the marriage date could be set he got violent with her, and nearly killed Elia. Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan had to pry him off the prince.

Arthur frowned, ''Prince Doran will take that for a slight,'' he said at once. Monford agreed, the king's father by marriage, he was always more inclined to agree to anything a Targaryen might say.  _Bootlicker._

''We cannot afford to have my brother messing something up. This progress is meant to bind the realm together, not destroy it.''

''Perhaps Prince Jaehaerys can reside at Lemonwood? It's a dragon's flight from Sunspear, and close by the Greenblood as well.'' He remembered Nymeria Dalt, the crush of his boyhood. Her bronze skin and beady black eyes had tied his heart in knots, that made him slightly chuckle.

''Yes, send the command to Dragonstone. What of my son, is he still at Highgarden?'' The Prince of Dragonstone had warded with Mace Tyrell for two years, to the woe of Arthur. Sansa Stark resided there, and though she was no more than a girl, it was not proper for the future king to consort with hostages.

But Rhaegar had insisted that it be done. Margaery Tyrell was the closets maiden of Targaryen blood besides Daenerys, and it seemed she would wed her brother instead of her nephew, but that was unofficial. Through her mother, she had Targaryen blood, for Alerie Hightowers mother was a daughter of Jaehaerys II, while her mother was a sister to Aegon V. Olenna Redwyne also had Velaryon blood on her mother's side.

Leyton Hightower was descended from Targaryen heritage to, after some Lord Hightower took a Velaryon to bride that had more than a bit of dragon's blood on her mother's side. Alicent Hightower also had Velaryon and Targaryen heritage.

Rhaegar was still intending to wed his son to his sister, damn what his mother thinks. 

''Aye, Prince Aegon still there. Lord Mace staged a small tourney there, and my nephew broke ten lances against Loras Tyrell, or so he writes.'' Arthur smiled at that, the Prince had taken to sword and lance sooner than his father had, and better as well. It was then that the Spider spoke.

''It would seem that Queen Lyanna's letter to the Starks has arrived.'' The tone in the room shifted, and the air itself seemed to get colder.

The Warden of the North and the Lord of Winterfell had never gotten along with the crown. It all went back to that dreadful tourney, where Rhaegar had taken a liking to the girl after the feast in Harren the Blacks great hall.

When Rhaegar absconded with Lyanna, things went to hell. Thankfully he got to the capital quick enough to stop Aerys from executing them, but not quick enough to stop them from the humiliation that followed. To add salt to the wound, the Starks were forced to meekly bend the knee before Aerys as he sat the iron throne, and beg for his royal forgiveness. 

''And what does Lord Rickard say?'' Rhaegar said, keeping his voice calm.

''It would seem the Lord Rickard has taken ill, Your Grace. It is his son who responds. He is courteous in the letter, but quite cold, Your Grace.'' 

''It is not his warmth I require, only his obedience.'' The king said.

''Lyanna has been too far away from her home, and it is past time Jaehaerys and his siblings know their cousins.'' Everyone nodded in agreement, but Arthur felt slightly uneasy.

''How goes Viserys' trip?'' 

''The Prince and Princess have been traveling about the East, Your Grace. It appears that Viserys has taken a keen interest in the Dothraki.''

''Did they receive my summons?'' Rhaegar demanded.

''Of course, Your Grace. I have no doubt that they will soon return.'' The king nodded.

The council meeting went on after that. Preparations were made, and the order of castles they would be visiting were decided. Duskendale, Rosby, Maidenpool, and Rook's Rest would all be visited first. Lord Mooton apparently petitioned to have his town made into a city, along with Prince Viserys.

From there they would swing to the Riverlands, visiting Harrenhal, Riverrun, Darry before entering the Westerlands, swing down into the Reach, then into Dorne. The North would be the very last, accounting for the distance. 

Ser Arthur stood up and pushed his chair in after Rhaegar had called an end to the meeting, but as he turned the kings voice stopped him.

"The Starks dislike me, don't they?" Arthur turned around and looked to Rhaegar. His crown sat firmly on his head, as if he were afraid to lose it.

"Are you asking me as your Kingsguard or as Arthur?" He asked softly, the king smiled.

"As my friend. Tell me true," The Lord Commander sighed and sat down.

''You certainly haven't gave them cause to love you, Your Grace." Rhaegar frowned.

"Lyanna has reached more than enough times. Trade deals, representatives at court, most lords would sell their daughter to get such a chance, yet Stark spits in my face for it." 

"It is not coin Lord Stark wants. Your father shamed him in front of the realm, and made him bend the knee meekly after his daughter was stolen-" Rhaegar's eyes flashed.

"I did not steal Lyanna!"

"Of course not Your Grace, but Stark did not know that." Rhaegar's face twisted.

"It was more than a decade ago, Stark has had plenty of time to get over it." Arthur frowned.

"That is not something you can simply get over, Your Grace."

"Renly has,"

"Renly is a bootlicker who wishes to marry into your family to check his own fall from power." Rhaegar laughed.

"You are right about Renly I grant you. Nonetheless, this trip will be used to bind the realm together. The North included."

"I am glad to hear that, Your Grace."

* * *

 


	5. Chapter V

**SANSA**

 

She put the sweet peach in her mouth, moaning as juices trickled down to the back of her throat. Chewing vigorously, she made short work of the fruit, to Willas' delight.

''Hungry?" He said teasingly, Sansa blushed.

"There's nothing as sweet as a Highgarden peach." She replied.

"Do they have fruit like this in the North?" Willas asked, pale purple eyes shining.  _Is he mocking me?_

"I. . . I don't know. I haven't been there since I was a babe." He frowned.

"Well, the king is planning a procession about the realm. Like Jaehaerys of old. He will travel to the North. It would be most fitting for you to visit them." Sansa felt the heat rush to her face. _I haven't been there in years._ Lord Mace was as kind as anyone could be, and Alerie was the closest thing to a mother she ever had, but Sansa couldn't help but feel like a stranger.  _I am a hostage, forced here for my father's good behavior. They'll never let me leave._

"Mayhaps," she answered shortly. In truth, she had little reason to meet the Starks. Her father hadn't traveled south to visit her since she was five, and had not written since she was seven. Her mother oft wrote, but it was mostly non stop attempts to get her to hate the Tyrells.  _Mace is more of a father than Brandon Stark ever could be, Margaery is the sister I never had, and Garlan and Loras are my valiant protectors._

Then there was Willas. . . 

Her twin was dear to her, but he was away at King's Landing, serving as the king's squire and cupbearer, but he never failed to write every moons turn.  _My brother writes more to me than any of my other family combined._

 "Come, Willas. Will you play me another song?'' She asked sweetly, Willas smiled, so sweet and innocent.

"I thought you would never ask, my lady."

Sansa stood up and offered her arm to him. Willas took it with one hand, while the other held his cane tightly. His leg brace made him stiff and awkward when walking, and he oft needed help to get up.  _He never takes it though, he doesn't wish to look weak._

The Reach was a land of chivalry and honor, the joust and hunt were esteemed above all else. Many men would not respect Willas since he could wield a sword or command an army, but Sansa knew better.  _Perhaps he cannot fight, but he is sweet and kind and intelligent. That counts for something._

Sansa walked him from the balcony into his private chambers, a place she often found herself. She blushed at the hell Margaery would give her. He sat down in a cushioned chair, and picked up the silver harp that stood tall next to his featherbed. Willas plucked the string gently, before he began to sing.

_Oh how do I love you_

_Will you have a piece of my love?_

_It's waiting for you_

_Girl you know it's true_

_..._

By the time he was done, her eyes were red-rimmed with tears. She clapped loudly, to Willas' pleasure.

"I'm glad you enjoyed that, my lady. I hope to sing for you more often." Sansa looked into his purple eyes, and smiled.

"I hope to hear you sing as well my lord."

* * *

"How was my brothers singing?" Sansa made a obnoxious groan.

As soon as she departed from Willas' chambers, she found herself set upon by Alla and Megga; two of Margaery's cousins. They grabbed her wrists and forced her to the courtyard gardens where Margaery was feasting, and demanded she tell them every detail of her encounter.

"Very good, Marge. If he wasn't heir to Highgarden he'd be a decent bard." She laughed at that.

"Loras and Garlan would find their place as knight in service with some lord, Willas could be a bard. What do I get?"

"A Maesters chain, the Gods know you read too much." Sansa couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well, I'm getting a lot more reading in once we head for Oldtown. Grandfather says he wished to see me before the King comes—" One of her cousins interrupted her.

"Do you think the dragons are coming?" Sansa snorted.

"Don't be stupid Megga, of course the dragons are  coming! With all their riders! I hear Prince Viserys claimed Sunfyre, and is especially fond of history." She sent a wink Margaery's way.

"Too bad he's so far down the line of succession." Desmera Redwyne added.

"Aye, more's the pity. Anyhow, Elinor tell us more about  _Alyn_." Elinor was the eldest of Margaery's cousins, and presumed to rule them by right of womanhood. Sansa was of age with her though, and they got on well, better as of late.

"Oh yes, tell of your brave knight-to-be!" Sansa called out, Elinor could only blush.

"Well, it was last night during the hour of the owl. I heard a slight tapping noise on my bedroom window, but when I walked to see what it was, I found him! Harp in hand!" Sansa was shocked.

"Alyn can sing?" She questioned, Elinor laughed.

"No. He's quite terrible, but it's the thought that counts, you know?" Sansa agreed. She remembered one time her brother sent her a drawing of them riding a dragon. He spelled her name wrong twice and his handwriting was incoherent, but she still held it with affection. 

"Must be nice. . ." She said absolutely. Ella Tarly snorted with scorn. The two have never liked one another, but it had gotten especially bad with Willas' attentions.

"Don't be so vain, Sansa. At least you have Willas to serenade you at night. All the boys make fun of my boils."  _That's pathetic._

"And that's my fault how?" She pressed angrily, Elinor put a hand on her shoulder, but Ella spoke up, eyes filled with anger.

"I don't like your tone, Stark. Remember that you're a hostage, not a ward. I can leave whenever I wish, but you'll meet the headsman's axe if you dare to." Everyone in the room gasped. Sansa felt the blood rushing to her face.

"Ella!" Margaery called out. Sansa stared at the Tarly girl, long and hard. . . before slapping her across the face. The girl made a gasp, but before anyone could do anything, Sansa stood, curtsied to Margaery, and left.

* * *

The darkness of the sky swallowed the pale moon with a hunger. It was a starry night, the trinkets of the south glittering high above everyone else. Down below,the three rings of white stone etched in gold leaf reflected the light, the overgrowth of green slightly overcoming it. Sansa's chambers were in the oldest towers in the castle, the squat, square things that dated back to the Age of Heroes.

Willas said his father did so at his suggestion,  _"Back then, even the Gardner Kings worshipped the Old Gods, I think you will feel closer to home here, yes?"_ He was partly right. Sansa never remembered anything besides the plush heaven that was the Reach, so the old legends of the Weirwoods and the Wolfswood and the Wall were just that, legends. 

She followed the Seven, just like Margaery and Loras and her other family. She only pretended to follow the Old Gods so that her father would be proud, but now she found herself wondering. _Ella was right, I'm a hostage, no more. Do they even like me, our are they using me? And what of my father? The man who has such high expectations for his children, yet none for himself._ Brandon Stark had raised more than his lords' ire in the North, she knew.

_He is a cruel and vain man, forcing Mother to reside near his bastards._

Three consecutive knocks on her chamber's door snapped her out of whatever dreamland she was in. She stood, walking into her rooms before looking out to small peep hole. Outside stood Willas, clutching his harp. She opened it.

"My lord," She curtsied low, spreading her dress as she went down. Willas bowed.

"My lady, may I come in?" Sansa stepped out into the hallway a little before looking both ways, no one was there. Willas seemed to notice and laughed.

"I come alone, Sansa. Please." She nodded and stepped aside.

He was dressed plain, as if he had been hunting. The dagger at his side solidified her suspicions. 

"Catch anything big?" She asked, Willas blushed.

"I'm. . . not much of a hunter. Father forced me to go. Garlan caught a boar though, and Prince Aegon put a quarrel right between a turkey's eyes." Sansa rolled her eyes. Prince Aegon was the Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, but was singularly the most annoying person she ever met. It was remarkable that Rickard managed to live with him without kicking his head in.

He was also cruel, taking a perverse pleasure in mocking the "traitor's daughter" or "the wolf's whore" depending on how he was feeling. It was ever worse that everyone ignored it to please the king.  _I'm just a hostage, he's the Prince. Margaery wants to be Queen. Should I be surprised?_

"Let us speak no more of Prince Aegon." She said swiftly, Willas nodded and sat down.

"I heard of what happened with Ella," He started.

"Come to give me a tongue lashing?" 

"I spoke to my father. We have come to an agreement that Ella Tarly's wardship is over. She is to return to Horn Hill once the king departs." Sansa looked at Willas, clear blue eyes full of confusion.

"Why?"

"Because whether you want to admit it or not, I'm on your side. I know you think everyone disregarded you in favor for Aegon, but that's not true. I care about you Sansa, and I won't let someone disrespect you, especially not a ugly girl from an insignificant house." She could only laugh.

"What did Randyll Tarly have to say about that?" She questioned.

"He will do as he's told. Grandmother will find some cousin of mine to marry the girl to and it will all be fine." Sansa did not share his confidence. Lord Tarly was the most ruthless Lord in the Kingdoms, aside from Lord Tywin and the king himself. He gave Robert Baratheon his only defeat at Summerhall, and made countless feats during the last invasion from Myrish pirates. He was not someone you wanted as an enemy.

Sansa felt an overwhelming amount of emotion overcome her.

"I can't thank you enough Willas, seriously I can't." He silenced her.

"Don't. We must look out for each other, yes?" She agreed. Suddenly the door burst open, leaving none other than Prince Aegon in the way.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The Prince's silver-gold hair fell to his shoulders, wavy in texture. His piercing lilac eyes made her feel uncomfortable, as if she were undressing her with his eyes.

"You going to pay for that door?" Willas said, ut he sounded more annoyed than angry. He then stood up, clutching his cane, and bowing slightly.

"My father can write the check if you're so concerned." He then turned his eyes to her, "Ah, having a chat with Lady Sansa. I'll leave you two to it." He then winked at Willas. Sansa felt the blush creeping up her face, she grinded her teeth.

"Be wary though, she's a firecracker, flaming as her hair. You see the number she did on Lady Ella?" He then proceeded to make a mummer's show of the supposed "fight" between her and Ella Tarly. Including high-pitched screams, slaps, and the frequent usage of the words 'bitch' 'whore' and 'slut'. Willas frowned.

"Hah, hah, very funny." He then turned to Sansa. "We'll talk later, my lady." He then left the room. Aegon lingered.

"When he's done, I will have my turn with you. Would you like that?" She could only stare.

"You wouldn't?" He sounded disapointed. "Well don't worry. My Kingsguard will hold you down." He then left, leaving the door open behind him.

Sansa leapt up, bum-rushing the door shut. After locking all the locks, she pushed the small dresser that lay next to her be in front of it. Breathing heavily with tears in her eyes, she walked to the desk and looked at the parchment. She grabbed the quil, dipped it in ink, and began writing.

_Your Grace,_

_I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, I write to you regarding a matter with your son—_

She stopped, feeling foolish. Who would they believe, the perfect prince or the traitor's daughter? It mattered not what she said. SHe could have hardcore proof and the king would dismiss it. She would be made a liar and shamed before the world. Her father might not even fight for her, seeing as what happened last time he warred for a woman of house Stark. 

It mattered not. She would always be their to use or manipulate, as long as she allowed it.

She clenched her fists.  _I am tired of being a victim._ She balled the paper up and threw it across the room.  _It isn't fair._

 _Nothing's fair._ She told herself,  _I have been living a fantasy this whole time, but no more._

She would not be a victim, to Aegon's threats or Margaery's manipulations, she would no ones fool.  _I need to learn to game, and make my own rules._

  _I will be the leader of my own destiny. I will play the game of thrones._

 

* * *

 


	6. Chapter VI

**CERSEI**

The bright blue sky began reeling with ravens, the Maester's chain jiggling as he let them free.

"Thank you for your service, Grand Maester." Pycelle bowed dutifully. A bastard son of a Lannett, his initial relationship with the famed Lannisters of Casterly Rock was strained at best. But her Grandfather, the ineffectual Lord Tytos, made a point of visiting every noble bastard in the West. Giving land and coin to the mother, seeing the boys trained for knighthood or sent to the Citadel, and the girls well dowered for future marriages.

After her father succeeded Tytos as lord, he  _gently_ reminded the man of his father's kindness before enlisting him in his service.  _After that, it was history._

"As always, my lady." Cersei nodded before leaving his chambers. The hustle and bustle of the capital provided ample opportunity, as of late. The king would host a great tourney before the royal party left, and due to her scheming, Myles would act as the king's squire. She walked into her rooms, not even noticing Elbert was already there.

"Cersei." She rolled her eyes as his tone.

"What is it, Elbert?" Her husband smirked at her. Tall, broad, and muscular, with white blonde hair and sky blue eyes, Elbert Arryn was a maiden's fantasy. A tourney champion at five-and-ten and a knight at eight-and-ten, the former heir to the Vale was a catch, all the girls in the kingdoms swooning over him.  _Except me._ It was the Prince of Dragonstone she sought after, not the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon.

_"You will be betrothed to Prince Rhaegar soon, and the announcement will be made at the tourney. Woo the Prince, and your marriage will go all the easier."_

Bile rose in her throat when she thought about that.

"It's my nephew, my uncle plans to betroth him to a Belmore girl." Cersei hissed.

"Who told you this?" The Belmore's were a powerful house, with a strong keep and full coffers and fertile lands. Their support was needed to ensure the succession.

"We must delay. What did Lord Royce say to our offer?"

"He has agreed to betroth Ysilla to Myles, only if he can foster Myrcella with his heir." Cersei groaned.

"I planned to send her to Casterly Rock," She complained. Elbert scowled.

"I have made arrangements for Oldtown." Her green eyes flashed open, her pearly white teeth formed an animalistic growl.

"And you decided not to tell me this?!" Elbert was unfazed.

"Did you decide to arrange for my son to be the king's squire without informing me?" Cersei lost her temper.

"It is a great honor! Besides, your uncle is too familiar with the crown for my liking."

Elbert batted his eyelashes, which were long and curly. "Our men still sit the council. Our interest are being cared for."

"By that you mean your interests." Elbert didn't respond to her.

"The alliance with Oldtown is critical, they have blood ties with the Tyrells—"

"And by extension, the king. I'm no fool Elbert!"

"You aren't exactly coming up with solutions, Cersei." She walked to a small desk and filled two goblets to the rim with wine. She grabbed one, and left the other for her husband.

"Did he ask for Myrcella specifically?" She wondered.

"Yes. It appears Andar and the girl have gotten on well," His voice turned bitter at the end, but she only laughed.

"There goes your grand plan with the Hightowers." His eyes gave her a death stare.

"Well Joanna will have to serve." But Elbert frowned.

"To give the future heir to Oldtown anything but our first daughter will be seen as an insult." Once again, Cersei's anger flared.

"Baelor and his idiot wife should be thankful Joanna  _looks_ their son's way. Beggars can't be choosers, and Aegon Hightower is the vilest of them all." The thought of wedding any of her girls to that sword swallower made her sick.

"If they're so choosy, send for Renly Baratheon or Loras Tyrell. If he likes them older, Jon Connington would bed him, especially since he looks so much like the king—" Elbert held up his hand.

"Careful. The walls have ears." Cersei took a deep breath.

She ran a hand through her golden curls. "They will accept Joanna." She insisted.

"Good, we need to get her away from Alester. Their too close for comfort, it's beginning to look strange." Cersei waived him off.

"They're twins. We have a different sort of relationship." Elbert hummed in response.

"Speaking of twins. . . you still wish to send one of our girls west." She nodded.

"If the West was Dorne, I'd be heir to Casterly Rock, not Jaime. One of my girls will have what I was denied." Elbert rolled his eyes.

"Tommen is a dullard. Lysa is a foolish cow, I won't have our girl wed a simpleton, she'll only produce simple son's." Cersei shrugged.

"Our blood will win out. And if it comes to that.  . . who better to care for the dumb Lord of Casterly rock than is intelligent wife?" He grinned.

"Shara is prepared for that, but Jaime has personally requested Aemma. . ."  _Because she looks like me, and my brother doesn't know how to let go._ Though, she supposed she could play the lover to her twin, as it suited her.

"We can send the offer to Lord Tywin but—" She stopped him there.

"No. Absolutely not." Elbert sighed.

"I know you are at odds—"

"Tywin Lannister is as effective as my left arse cheek. He failed to turn me into a queen, twice. I'm done depending on him to get me places."

"He's still your father."

"He has less access to the royal family than we do. He should turning to us for aid."

"We owe him a deal, Cersei. After that stunt you pulled with my uncle's wife. . ." Cersei blanched at the reminder.

It was never supposed to turn violent, she told herself, but she knew it was a lie. The golden lioness had been so happy, realizing she would finally have a piece of power, even if it wasn't the title of queen.  _Rhaegar's mad, he would disregard me as quickly as he did Shaena,_ she consoled herself, after she'd been rejected again. Surprisingly, the man she would build a life with is the same man she would attempt to kill, all those years before.

But the day Jon Arryn strode into the great hall and announced he would take another wife, her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. It was as if the gods themselves were working to punish her.  _Why?_ She asked. Was it over Melara Heatherspoon? She was a grasping little bitch who would have stolen her only friend from her,  _the servant girl she ordered beaten half to death?_ She stole jewelry! And not some trinket, her most prized possession. A solid gold lion with rubies for eyes. It was a gift from her mother, placed in her cradle.

Nothing could console her. Not even Elbert, the only man she had a deal of affection for besides Jaime, could console her. So after the bedding ceremony, many moons later, she crept into the Lady's bedchamber.  _I can't even remember her name, or what she looked like._

In her hands was a steak knife, nine inches long, and sharp to the touch.  _I only meant to scare her,_ she justified,  _scare her away so that Elbert could be the heir._ But she woke up to fast, and she saw Cersei's face.

_I had no choice, she was screaming—_

_You could have not snuck into her rooms with a knife, Cersei._ A voice scolded her. Was it her mother's? Truth be told, she had forgotten how she looked, neverless how she sounded.

What happened next haunted her for years. At first she tried to silence her, coming up with a lie that she saw an intruder at her door, but the woman wasn't falling for it, and called the guards. In a mixture of rage and envy and pure madness, she lunged on top of her and began slicing her up. Cleaving in her forehead on the first strike, cutting her throat on the second, she kept going until the rage left her.

After, knowing what she had done would cost her life, she dropped the knife and fled the room, burning her bloody gown, and leaving the woman to be found by a guard.

"You weren't grieving then. You were quite happy, as I recall." She said sharply.

"Of course I wanted her dead! I never denied that, but hacking her to bloody bits in her bed? That was too much, and brought down a ton of heat. If your father hadn't housed us—" Cersei couldn't take it anymore.

"He's my father! It's his duty to protect his children! I've never seen another man want praise and glory for doing what he should be!"

"It's not praise, Cersei. Just show him a little bloody gratitude, alright?" Before she could respond, the door opened. Outside was Pycelle.

"Forgive me my lady. . . I would not wish to disturb your rest. But a letter from Casterly Rock arrived." Cersei walked towards him and took the thing from his hands. Reading over it, she frowned.

"It's from Jaime." She said out loud. Elbert reached over and snatched it from her hand.

"He wishes to take Joffrey for a squire." He repeated.

"Pycelle, a moment?" The Maester bowed before leaving. Elbert rounded on her.

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"I've seen the looks he's given Aemma. I won't have him around my children." Cersei put her head in her hands.

"Joffrey could use this. You know how he is."

"The knights of the Vale are some of the most proven warriors in the kingdoms." He protested.

"Yet they aren't blood. Joffrey would well to an uncle better methinks." 

"Joffrey is . . . different. I worry for the lad." She grabbed his face.

"As do I. Which is why we need to send him away. The Vale isn't good for him, to many Arryn's, not enough room." he nodded.

"Very well." he mumbled.

"Good, where are the children by the way?"

"Myles is with the king. The others are attending their various duties." Cersei nodded.

* * *

 

The Red Keep was chaos. Servants here, lords there, she had to squeeze past them in order to get to her destination. Meryn Trant followed her with slowly and clumsily, to her annoyance. _With what I'm paying him, he needs to be Aemon the Dragonknight._

Her golden hair tumbled down her back, her green eyes cruel and cold, that kept the courtiers away from her, but it didn't stop Jon Arryn.

"Lady Cersei," he said to her as she attempted to cross the bridge to Maegor's Holdfast.

"Lord Arryn." She said respectfully. Jon was dreadfully old, nearly eighty, yet he stood tall and strong as ever, giving in to neither drunkenness nor gluttony. Whatever hair he had was long gone, but a well kept but absurdly long snow-white beard. The right side of his teeth had fallen out, leaving wooden replacements in their stead. Cersei forced herself to smile through the assault of his poor breath, which smelled of eggs and Dornish red wine.

"May I inquire as to what you're doing here?" Cersei nearly growled.

"To visit my son of course. He is to be the king's squire." Jon Arryn blanched.

"It was agreed that my son Robert would be his Grace's squire."  _Your son is a feeble weakling who still sucks on a wetnurses teat._

"Unfortunately that is not so." Cersei walked away without another word, leaving Jon to his own mind. When she entered the castle yard, she was noticed immediately. Ser Arthur Dayne and Jon Connington were instructing several red-haired boys in the art of strike and parry.

"Lady Cersei," Arthur said, Cersei nodded.

"Lord Commander, forgive my intrusion, I was merely searching for my sons Myles and Joffrey." Dayne nodded, wiping is pale blonde hair back sweating through his armor.

"They went to fetch some water, should be in the castle." The golden lioness nodded once more before leaving.

The sounds of Meryn Trant's armor grinding her nerves, but she kept her composure. Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, shining pink and purple and blue, the heat trapping itself inside her gown. The Lion prowled the castle, in search for her cubs.

When she found them, they were draining water from a pump into several skins, just as Ser Arthur said. They were not surprised to see her.

"Mother," They said in unison. Joffrey was the eldest, her golden boy. His hair was a mess of golden curls, while his eyes were green as his mother's, like a cat.  _He is the image of Jaime._ He was tall and strong, broad in his chest, his arms corded with muscle.

Myles was Elberts. Instead of the golden hair of his mother, he possessed the while blonde hair and sky blue eyes of his father. He was similar in height and build to his elder brother. 

"I need to speak with you," Cersei said. Myles nodded but Joffrey didn't.

"I'm busy." He said simply, his eyes betraying no emotion. Her eldest was the most complicated of her children. He was a natural warrior, but there something with him she could not put her finger on, and while she tried to ignore it, it became more and more prevalent with the pass of time.

"It'll only take a minute." She promised. Joffrey looked like he wished to refuse, but a pat on the back and whisper from Myles stopped him.

"My brother Jaime has offered to take you on for a squire, Joffrey." Joff pondered that for a moment, while twisting his hair on his fingers, round and round.

"Can my dog come?" Sandor had been more of a bad influence on him, but she did not wish to argue with her son.

"Sure. Myles, your father has betrothed you to Ysilla Royce." If Joffrey was upset about his younger brother getting married before him, he didn't show it. Myles smiled, he was closer to Elbert than Joff was, and included more often in his plans.

"That's good. Very good." He said simply, Cersei nodded and left her sons to their discussions, she had no want to hear to ramblings of teenage boys. Instead, she went to her chambers, and plotted on her response to Jaime.

* * *

 


End file.
